From a House Down the Road from Real Love
by lingeringday
Summary: Her life isn't fantastic, not by a long shot. Rose isn't sorry. PostDoomsday, Doctor/Rose if you blink.


_**From a House Down the Road from Real Love **_

**a/n: **The Stars's "Your Ex-Lover is Dead" inspired this and is liberally sprinkled throughout. It was supposed to end quite differently, but I am apparently incapable of writing the sort of ending that it was supposed to be. Also, I cried a lot while writing this. I had to cheer myself up somehow.

* * *

Rose works at Torchwood for exactly two weeks after the Doctor leaves. She quits without warning, leaving no notice, no time to train a replacement. It is the normal way of things for Torchwood.

Part of her wants to stay-- it is the fastest way, the best way, maybe the only way to find out about the Doctor, find a way back to the Doctor-- but after the third day back, she knows that it's just a hallow shell of what she used to have. Imagining life among the stars and the universe's possibilities is different after you've been out there yourself.

Mickey doesn't seem to feel it though. Maybe it's because he wasn't out there for very long, before running off to this parallel world. Parallel Mickey. The longer he spends here, the less he seems like himself. Same with her mum. They're getting drawn into daily life, getting used to the airship filled skyline, falling into comfortable routines.

No matter how hard she tries, there's no Parallel Rose here to fill the void. She can't fit in because she isn't meant to be here. Not as a human anyway, and Rose isn't looking to become a stupid yappy dog. Bugger her mum's taste anyway.

So she quits, yeah. It's the right thing to do.

* * *

Her life isn't fantastic, not by a long shot.

She cries whenever she eats chips. At least whenever she eats proper chips. She still loves potatoes though, so she's taken up eating those fast food chips, the American-style ones. Sometimes she thinks about moving to America, but she can't quite bring herself to go that far away. She wants him to be able to find her, if he comes. When he comes.

She fantasizes about it, folding tee-shirts. He'll show up, (she'll be 19 again,) grab her hand, and say one word. Just one.

They'll look at each other and laugh as they do.

Some days he wears his first face. Other times he wears a completely new face. He never wears his last face, because if he did, he'd be crying.

She can't picture his face any other way anymore.

* * *

Her little brother is eight when it happens. Her mates (not Shareen, not anyone she used to know, just random faceless mates that blur together in her mind) have decided to set her up. She's 29-- "getting on a bit to be working in a shop and loveless, yeah?" they mock.

She's forgotten all about things normal girls do. Her mind's hardly ever left the stars since she's left Torchwood, and she thinks it's for the best. Living down in this world depresses her, because no matter how much she tries, she still doesn't fit. She knows she isn't meant to be here.

Torchwood never let her forget it, but here, pretending to be a normal shop girl with normal mates, she can. Almost. Funny how that works out.

Or rather, how it did, until her friends decide to set her up.

* * *

It isn't that she's not glad to see him, yeah? It's just that it's been eight years since she has. They'd tried to keep in touch after she'd left Torchwood, but every time Rose saw him, he was more and more Ricky and less and less Mickey. Yet another reminder of how he fit here. He could fit here, and she never could.

She smiles when they're introduced and says, "Yes, I think we've met before."

It starts to rain as they stand outside the pub. Mickey just blinks, once, twice, and then takes her hand and leads her to a taxi. He doesn't say a word past directions to the driver, and the silence presses in on Rose, clinging like a vice.

It isn't that she's sad, exactly, it's just her mind is hazy. Being around him doesn't seem quite right. She can't remember anymore if he is Mickey or Ricky, just like she can't remember if her mum is her mum, or just some posh version that isn't quite right. She knows her dad isn't her dad, and watching her mum pretend (less and less pretending, it seems like,) sickens Rose.

Nothing's been quite right. She wakes up in the middle of the night feeling like someone's been trying to strangle her. She used to try and connect with the world, but whenever she thought she made a connection with someone, something, it would snap like a tether stretched beyond its breaking point, and Rose would be alone again.

She promised him forever, and it seems like she's still giving it, even when he isn't here to take it.

She gazes out the taxi window. It's easier than making small talk.

* * *

He speaks when they're inside his flat. She sees dirty boxers and framed photographs on the mantle that suggest-- Well, good on him, really.

But he's not her Mickey anymore if it's true.

She wonders how Jake can do it-- love someone with the same face who isn't the same? She knows she's loved the same person with a different face, but they weren't exactly the same, exactly. From one face to another there were subtle differences, but the core, the heart of the matter (or hearts, as it may be,) were the same. All the same essential bits, yeah? They hadn't changed. Just the hands that held hers fit differently.

But how would it be to have the same hands holding yours, but the inner bits all different? 's odd, yeah? She wishes she could feel like herself again long enough to ask.

"Rose," he says. He's got a scar over one eye. "You know, I don't regret it, coming here." She stares at it for a moment, then looks away. "Do you," he asks hesitantly.

She looks back at him, silent. It's a stupid question.

He tries again. "Look, I'm buggering this all up. Rose." She holds her gaze steady, and interrupts.

"Why'd your friends send you on a setup, when you've already got a bloke?" He flinches.

"It's not-"

"It is. Don't you lie to me, Mickey Smith. Don't you dare."

"We've found a way back," he says, and her limbs collapse.

* * *

Her eyes ache after Mickey explains it to her.

"You won't be able to come back. Not ever, unless the Doctor is far cleverer than what we've come up with. But he doesn't seem to think he'll be able to come back again after the once."

She stares up at him, dumbfounded.

"You mean--" hope swells in her chest, and then is quickly followed by anger. "You've spoken to him and you didn't tell me?" her voice rises to a screech by the end of the sentence.

"'s Classified, yeah? Torchwood business." He sighed at her blank look. "You quit. Eight years ago, Rose, with no warning. You haven't spoken to me in years, you've barely seen your mum or your fami-"

"Don't. They're not- It's not the same, Mickey. You're not the same. This universe is swallowing you and mum up, incorporating you, and I'm losing my bloody mind because there's no place here for me." She blinks back tears and blows her fringe out of her eyes.

"I'm…" she pauses, considering her words. "I'm not sorry. For any of it. That I came, that I tried, that I want to leave. There's nothing left for me here, Mickey. You know that as well as I do."

"Jackie won't like it."

"She doesn't have to. I've made my choice, yeah? I made my choice eight years ago. The rest of this is just- biding time." She blinks, once, twice, and realizes what she has said is true. She's lived through this, yeah, and she's not looking back. She'll miss them, of course, but it's different with him. 'snot like she's spending any quality time with them now, half-dead as she is. She wants to live, a life fantastic, and she's going to.

Just as soon as they let her through to the bloody Doctor.

"Rose." Mickey says, eerily calm given the circumstances. "Are you sure. Are you absolutely positive this is what you want? Because I won't stand in your way if it is."

She snorts, a bit, in her head. As if Mickey could stop her. As if any man could stop her from doing what she wanted. She was going home, and that was all there was to it.

"I'm not sorry there's nothing left to save." she says, and he knows it's time.

* * *

It aches a bit, going through the portal that Torchwood provides. She feels it deep in her bones, and she won't be doing that again in a hurry. She's given notice on her flat, sold her belongings, kissed her sobbing mum goodbye, and left a letter for her brother to read-- "when he's older, yeah? Maybe he'll understand." She's not much of a sister, but she's all he's got. Hopefully he'll understand that a living memory is better than a shell that's present but empty.

He probably won't, but it's a risk she has to take.

* * *

She lands in a heap on the floor of the TARDIS. Limbs tangled, like after every crash landing, and she feels so alive that she thinks she could kiss it. She feels so alive that she does.

He helps her to her feet. He looks older, and she supposes she does as well. She wonders if he'll continue to look older as he ages, ever so slowly, or if he'll be like a vampire and have the same face for the rest of this face's days. But he looks older as he holds his hands on her shoulders. She wonders if it's just a trick of her mind.

"This wasn't supposed to happen, Rose. You were supposed to have a fantastic life." He said slowly, holding her at arm's length.

"How'm I supposed to do that without you, idjit?" she said, crying from the relief of it all. She's here again, finally, and he's here, and she feels real again with his hands touching her. He smiles as he gathers her to him.

"And I love you, Rose Tyler." He says at last, and kisses her hairline. She tightens her arms around him, and looks out at the world around them. It's where she fits, finally. Home.


End file.
